A Fortune Cookie For Him
by KristiesPeacockQuill
Summary: As storms rage outside, Hermione makes the boldest move she's ever made in love.


Tempestuous rains and winds raged for the duration of Hermione's preparation for dinner. She dashed furiously around the kitchen, waiting. Waiting for Harry. Waiting for the moment he stepped in the door. The moment he would shake the rain from the ends of his raven hair and it would splatter on her, tickling her skin and then vanish seconds later. The moment he would take off his cloak, shake it outside like she always asked him to, sweep her up in his arms as his hand encircled her waist, and say, "Good evening, darling. If your day was as bad as I seem to think it was, I can make it all better for you." The moment she would giggle, tell him her day was spectacular, and seal his mouth shut with an affectionate greeting. 

And then they would sit and talk. Just be conversationalists. And Hermione loved to talk more than anything.

She and Harry had been steadily dating for eight long years. They were both twenty-seven years old and, although neither had them had directly proposed the idea of marriage, both insinuated that the offer was still on the table. Hermione patiently awaited the day Harry would grasp her hand, kneel down in front of her, tell her she was truly the most wonderful person he had ever laid eyes on, and declare that he wanted to grow old with her. They joked about that statement often. Harry said it had long been clichéd but he said it to her a lot nonetheless. Hermione tingled with pleasure when she heard it at the very prospect. 

Knock. Knock. Harry was standing outside the door. 

Elated, Hermione propelled herself at the front door, pulled it open, and threw herself at Harry, despite his sopping wet cloak. She could feel him freeze, contemplate a conceivable reaction, and then fasten his arms around her, where they should have been all along. Harry just didn't look right with his arms not snaked around Hermione's shoulder or fixing her with a smile of extreme adoration. "I love you," Hermione breathed into his cloak. She buried her head into the crook of his neck and inhaled the fresh scent of Harry's cologne tinged with the purity of the rainwater. 

"Hermione?" she heard Harry's voice softly coo her name. By narrowing their proximity, Hermione had found that Harry's voice grew huskier and huskier – and huskiest was the predominant way Hermione preferred to hear her name uttered by him. She picked up her head and stared into those eyes, those eyes that had entranced her that warm, September day in 1991, when she met him for the very first time, sitting in a compartment with Ron and staring curiously up at her. "I love you," she reiterated, "and there's something we should talk about."

"All right then," agreed Harry. "But get me a mug of hot chocolate. The cold's making my bones rattle." 

Hermione briskly rubbed his arms and led him into the kitchen. He shrugged off his cloak, draped it on her coat tree, and sat at the table as he watched her set a large and covered metal platter in front of him. _"Lacarnum inflamore!" _she intoned towards the candle as she pointed her wand at it. A small blue flame shot up from the wick, casting them in a dim but simultaneously bright whitish blue light. "Dig in," she invited, unveiling the platter of succulent turkey, surrounded by vegetables and potatoes. His hot chocolate was ready moments later. Harry picked up a carrot and bit it gingerly.

"Wow, Hermione. It looks amazing. You didn't have to make that. It must have taken eons."

"Wait until desert." She waggled her eyebrows at him, but couldn't help stiffening from what she had in store.

Harry leaned in and grasped her hand. "You're on, wild one." He kissed her hand and helped her slice the turkey. "Hermione," he said, "this turkey is so big, we can't possibly finish it in one sitting, or even four at that. You should have invited Ron."

"No, Harry," said Hermione firmly. "I want to be alone with you and that's the way it's going to be. If I wanted Ron to accompany us, then fine, always room for company, but for now, no visitors. Just you, me, the storm outside – "

"That's three," pointed out Harry slyly.

"Don't contradict me!" she said, lightly but playfully slapping his hand. She let go and severed a piece of her turkey, and then shoveled it into her mouth. The rest of the dinner revolved mainly around small talk and subjects they had often broached, but Hermione drummed her fingers tensely. She looked over her shoulder at the two fortune cookies sitting on the counter behind them, and pursed her lips. 

Harry let his knife and fork fall to his plate with a clatter. "Hermione, I couldn't possibly eat any more."

Her stomach lurched dangerously as she glanced back over at the fortune cookies. He couldn't know what was encased inside of them, not now. But he would have to find out sometime. She pushed her chair back; it scraped against the wood. She heaved herself up and approached the fortune cookies, snatching them both up.

Hermione scrutinized them. One was concealed in bright red wrapping and tied with a small white ribbon while the other was bone white and tied with a red ribbon. If she could remember correctly, Harry's was the one in the bright red wrap. She couldn't forget. She had bought them at a Muggle Chinese teashop in London a week ago, and had just tossed the fortune that was originally inside of it into the rubbish bin. Then she had restored the cookie back in one piece with a simple Binding charm after replacing the old fortune with a special one of her own. She couldn't mess this up. Oh Merlin, she couldn't. "Fortune cookie?" she offered, holding the cookie donned in red wrapping to him.

Harry stared into her glossy eyes. "Sure." He took the cookie and untied the white ribbon, depositing it onto the table. Then he took off the wrapping.

It was probably the single most nerve-wrecking moment in Hermione's life as she stood there, still holding her untainted cookie, watching Harry crack the golden brown cookie into two jagged piece and take out her fortune. There was no emotion to be seen on his pale face as he read the fortune, and she bit her lip. Had it been the wrong time to ask? She saw his lips form the words, "Marry me?" and then he looked up at her.

She wasn't sure if it was a smile, but he was screwing up his face into some expression. "Hermione… " he croaked. 

Without even thinking Hermione fell into his lap and cried. "I'll understand if you don't want to," he barely heard her say.

But he framed her blotchy face with his hands. "Why wouldn't I?" 

Her mouth fell open as she gaped at him. "But I thought – well, you didn't seem like you wanted to… I've just been thinking about it so much and I was afraid you would never ask me so I did it myself – it's just that we've been trying to get away from everyone and the hustle and bustle of London and we never spend enough time together, so… " She trailed off and sniffed as she waited for his response.

There wasn't a verbal response. Instead, she felt his arms find their way around her body as she was pulled as close as was humanly possible to him. "Now we can spend forever," she caught him say, huskily, like always, to her as he hoisted her out of the seat and out of the kitchen.


End file.
